Return of the Morah
by Almarre
Summary: A Wind Singer/Slaves of the Mastery fic. Kesterel and Bowman and the Manth people are still searching for their homeland... but when they finally arrive they find there is a battle to be won before it is theirs. Short and sweet - please R&R!


Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction based on the books The Wind Singer and Slaves of the Mastery, both by William Nicholson. I don't own the rights to them (obviously).   
  
Author's Note: I wrote this for a book report - nevertheless it turned out pretty well. It would be easier to understand if you've read the books, but I pretty much explained what needed to be explained, so even if you haven't read the two novels it should be entertaining. I strongly recommend the books, by the way. They're the first two in a trilogy (called The Wind on Fire Trilogy) and the third one's on the way. Enjoy, and please review!****   
  
  
  
**The Return of the Morah**   
  
  
  
**Prologue**  


  
The clock struck midnight; a series of deep, vibrating tones that echoed through all the empty rooms of the enormous house. The Morah hardly noticed - time was meaningless in her halls.   
The Morah took a deep breath and closed her eyes; eyes that held within them millions of other eyes, all connected in one collective being. The Morah was not a single person. She was the manifestation of an infinite number of people, all joined together to form one evil power. The frail old woman was anything but.  
As the Morah sat with her eyes closed, she let all needless thought flow from her mind. In this state, she could sense, far away, the one will that had ever dared to challenge hers. It was the will of a simple young boy, barely above childhood, a no one. And yet, he was the one who could ruin her. His name was Bowman, and he grew closer everyday.  
The Morah's endless eyes flashed open. A blazing red fire now burned within them.  
One thing she knew. The boy must not live.  
  
  
**Part One**  
  
Slow step after slow step, the Manth people were making their way across the plains. It was not easy going, not with one hundred and one people and a shortage of food. Three weeks had passed since their escape from slavery in the city of the Mastery, and conditions had not improved. They were still cold, they were still tired, and they were still hungry. The worst part, however, was that they were still as far away from their so-called homeland as they had been when they left. Some said, in fact, that they were further away than ever. Only the Hath family and Sisi still believed that they would all reach it alive.   
Ira Hath was a prophetess, the one who had convinced them all to leave in the first place, after the Mastery had burned. Her visions were making her weaker and weaker, but still she pressed on toward a homeland she could almost taste. Her husband, Hanno, along with their young daughter Pinto, were the only ones who were still fully by her side. By that time, all of the other Manth people were having their doubts about her visions, and questioning their reliability.  
Even Kestrel Hath found her mother's promises of a homeland unconvincing now. It seemed to her that they should have come upon it by now, and even if it was just over the next hill, maybe it would only be a particularly large clump of trees in this barren land. Where would they be then? They didn't even have a life of slavery to return to; the Mastery had been destroyed after the death of the Master. Kestrel's friend Sisi (a used-to-be princess of the Republic of Gang who had decided to start a new life with them) shared her views, as she usually did on matters that she didn't understand.  
Bowman Hath, on the other hand, had his mind on something else. He was beginning to learn more about his mysterious powers. He was discovering that he could do almost anything with his mind. His powers had helped him defeat the Master who was holding his people slaves. He hadn't been able to do it by himself, though, and in desperation had called upon the Morah. Now the Master was dead, but an even more powerful evil dwelt inside of him. Traces of the Morah were left inside his mind, and try as he might he could not rid himself of them. Bowman feared that eventually the Morah would control him entirely, and he would be a slave once again. He was trying to build up his own strength, because he could feel that soon he would have to fight the Morah face to face. His mother called this foreboding "The Wind on Fire". Bowman knew his coming battle with the Morah would change the fate of the Manth people forever.  
A gray cat followed behind Bowman, at the very end of the line of Manth people. Mist was a cat who had once belonged to the Singer people, the ones who had shaped the Manth people's society, Aramanth, from the very beginning. Unlike all the others in the long, sad caravan of people he followed, he _knew _he was going home.  
***  
_One week later...  
_Kestrel bent down to pick several blackberries off a bush by the side of the trail. It seemed like this was all she had eaten in a very long time; just blackberries. Blackberries, a few nuts, and part of a deer that her friend Mumpo had shot and brought back to camp with a very proud look on his face. She wished for something more, but there was nothing else. Kestrel handed some berries to Sisi, who was walking next to her, and then popped the rest in her mouth. The tart berries did little to calm her appetite, but she tried to pretend the hunger wasn't there.  
It seemed as though they had been walking in this wasteland for years, though it had really only been a single month. Still, all the people couldn't survive much longer on what they had. If they didn't come upon the homeland soon, well, Kestrel didn't like to think of what could happen.  
With that thought, Kestrel heard a cry at the front of the caravan. She and Sisi were toward the end of it, and the front was over the crest of a steep hill. They couldn't see the people at the beginning, but the cries increased, and were now interspersed with shouts and yelling. Kestrel and Sisi looked at each other, then ran as best they could with the rest of the people at the end of the line to see what was happening at the front.   
When they reached the top of the hill and saw what was the matter, Kestrel herself cried out in surprise and Sisi fell to her knees with a moan. Stretched out in front of them was the sea, the deep, endless, uncrossable sea that extended for unthinkable amounts of miles down a rocky shoreline and ended in a bleak line on the horizon as far as the eye could see in front of them. They could go no further. The Manth people were done for, and they knew it. So they began to deal with their troubles in the only way they knew how - they started to scream at Ira Hath.  
"You!" shrieked a woman who had never liked Ira. "You've done this to us! You tricked us with your foolish dreams, and now look where it's got us!"  
"We're going to die out here, and it's your fault!"  
"How could we have listened to you?"  
The insults and slurs continued, but Ira simply positioned herself in a place where most of the gathered Manths could see her. She tried to look them in the eyes, but the intense anger she found there made this more difficult than she thought.   
"O unhappy people!" she cried in her prophetess voice. "Why do you doubt? Not even an ocean can keep us from our homeland!"   
"There _is_ no homeland!" someone shouted. "You've lied to us from the beginning."  
There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd. Ira herself knew that their paradise was near; she felt it. She didn't know how she felt it or where it was, but she knew they were close. The only thing was, this wasn't good enough for the angry mob that was forming. They were angry and scared, and large numbers of angry, scared people are very dangerous.   
Some of the people in the crowd began to pick up stones that littered the beach. They tossed them restlessly from hand to hand while shooting Ira angry looks. The prophetess, for all her strength, began to be scared. Hanno Hath stepped to her side to protect her, but by now the enraged mass of people was too wound up to care. Shouting "Kill the prophetess!", someone cast the first stone. It landed harmlessly a few feet in front of Hanno and Ira, but another followed.  
At this moment, Kestrel, who was watching in horror from the top of the hill, could see something very far away on the horizon between water and sky. It was a flock of small brown objects, she couldn't make out what just yet. But something was there, and it could be enough to save her parents.  
"Look!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, jumping up and down in the mound of earth and pointing and waving her arms, trying desperately to draw attention away from her parents and toward whatever was speeding over the water. "Something's coming!"   
Slowly, people looked up and dropped their rocks. Only one rock had found its mark and caused any harm, on Hanno's shoulder, but he and Ira took their opportunity and hurried out of sight. No one noticed, because they were all now staring intently at the group of little boats, which is what they were. They were coming toward them at an amazing pace, borne by a force stronger than wind. They had no sails or oars, in any case. In fact, they had no occupants. They were simple brown boats, empty but more than seaworthy. They seemed to fly over the water instead of floating through it. In only a matter of seconds, all the canoe - like crafts had come to rest on the shore without hitting a single rock, although these stuck out of the water like sharp teeth.  
All thoughts of stoning the prophetess evaporated from the Manths' minds. They approached the boats as if the ships might reach out and bite any second. Kestrel, Bowman, and Sisi hurried to the front of the crowd.  
Amazingly, the fleet of boats was hovering over the sand. They did indeed float in midair as if on a current of wind. Everyone on the beach stared with open mouths. Was it possible that this was their answer? Did these vacant boats come to them specifically, to bring them to their homeland? Why else were they here?  
Kestrel quickly counted the boats. Twenty-six. That was an eerily perfect number, if, as it looked, four people could fit in a boat. One hundred and one Manths. Only one person would have to go alone.  
To most everyone's surprise, Bowman stepped forward. "This is no coincidence," he proclaimed. "These boats have been sent to no one but us, to take us to our homeland." He knew more than he said. Like his mother, he had a feeling that the homeland was near. But, unlike Ira, he knew that it was an island called Sirene, among a people called the Singers. He also knew, although it made his heart heavy, that he would be the one to go alone. He would be the one to truly win their freedom, by defeating the Morah once and for all. He didn't say this to the Manths, however. It would only have made them more afraid. Instead, he said, "What are you waiting for? Get in!"  
The people were too shocked to protest. They climbed into the boats, which did not even sag with their weight. Kestrel, Pinto, Sisi, and Mumpo climbed together into one boat, Ira and Hanno sat with two women in another. No one questioned Bowman when he took the front boat and sat alone but for the gray cat. Somehow it had become understood that he was their leader now.   
Bowman knew how to order the boats to start. He couldn't tell how he knew, but with a single thought of his, they were off, speeding, flying across the water toward an island called Sirene.  
***  
  
Kestrel was sitting in the front of her boat, with the wind whipping back her hair. After weeks of drudging through the dry region north of the Mastery, this was heaven. Or at least she told herself this on the outside. Inside, her heart, a knot of fear was growing.   
Bowman and Kestrel were twins. They had a relationship that went far beyond any normal one between a brother and sister. They could talk to each other using just their minds, and one could sense when the other was near. They knew things about each other without having to be told. So, in this way, Kestrel could tell that something was far from right with her brother. It hurt her to think that he didn't share whatever is was with her - they had never kept anything from each other before.  
_Bowman!_ Kestrel called out to him, her silent voice carried by the wind.   
_What is it?_ Bowman swiveled around in his boat to glance back at her.  
Kestrel paused. _I just wanted to say that if there's anything you want to tell me, you can.  
_Bowman turned back around so that she wouldn't see his pained expression. _It's the Morah, Kess. It's inside me again and it's so hard to fight._  
_You know I'll do anything for you_, Kestrel replied. She meant every word. She would do absolutely anything and everything for her brother, and he for her. They were more than themselves; they were both only half a person without the other. Bowman felt the power in her promise to protect him, and knew that it was sincere.  
All of the Manths were enjoying their rides in the flying ships, even though there was no way for them to know where they were going. Most had forgotten their previous rage at the prophetess, and hoped now that their homeland would still come into view.   
It was Pinto who spotted it first. She almost stood up in the boat, but Kestrel pulled her back down just in time.   
"There it is!" Pinto cried with rampant excitement. "I know that's it, it's our home!"  
People in the other boat started to look where she was pointing. A thin strip of land lay in the distance, but it was coming closer every minute because of the great speed at which their boats were traveling. None of them (except a gray cat) had been to the isle before, but many of them felt as Pinto did: this green land before them, backed by a purple and orange sunset would undoubtedly soon be called home.   
As they neared it, the Manths could see how beautiful Sirene really was. The shallow water surrounding the beaches was a cool blue. Trees lining the shore were thick with the green of summer. When they had almost reached the island, a sweet earthy fragrance wafted out to greet them, and the faint scent of fruit set off all their rumbling stomachs again. Finally, the flying boats glided over the beach and came to rest over the white sand. The exhausted Manths stumbled out of their ships and practically collapsed onto the ground.   
They made a small camp there for the night. All of the wagons and wheelbarrows that they had had were now on the other side of an ocean. Still, they had some blankets and they had each other, and, best of all, an enterprising young man had managed to locate a grove of fruit producing trees. For the hungry refugees, two pieces of fruit each was a feast. Everyone slept well that night. Everyone except, of course, Bowman. The gray cat called Mist stayed up and talked with him, to keep him company.  
  


**  
Part Two**  


  
The first hints of morning had barely started to creep over the horizon when Bowman heard the Singing. It was not very noticeable, just the faint whispers of a song strung together by many soft voices far away. But Bowman heard it, and as he strained his ears to listen the Song grew slightly louder and changed into words that Bowman could understand. He had never heard the strange language before in his life, but he knew that they were calling for him. The Singers were calling just for him, and it sent shivers up his spine.  
He woke Kestrel, to see if she wanted to go with him. He knew she would. When he told her that he was going out to find the Singing, however, she looked and him oddly and asked what he meant.  
"The Singing," he said, not understanding. "It sounds like it's coming from the other side of that forest."  
Kestrel stared at him, first with doubt, but then with an apologetic frown. "I don't hear any singing," she said.  
Bowman was bewildered. The Song was loud enough now to wake the entire camp, but no one was stirring. Not even his twin, his half-self, could hear the beautiful music. It made him sad to think that this Singing was truly Sung only for him.  
Kestrel refused to stay put while Bowman searched for the music she couldn't hear. He wanted her to come. Still, he feared for her. His battle with the Morah was nearing, he knew.  
Followed by Mist the cat, they set off into the woods opposite the shore. It was a warm summer morning, and almost pleasant to walk through the forest. There were an abundance of nuts and berries, and they were able to pick up a decent breakfast on their way.  
Bowman could tell he was following the right path because the Singing kept getting louder as they went on. Kestrel still couldn't hear the Song, and Bowman still didn't know why.  
They had been walking uphill for part of an hour, when all of a sudden Kestrel stopped dead in her tracks. Her skin prickled and her blood froze as she heard, from far off, the familiar battle cry.  
"Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!"  
"The Zars!" she could only whisper, because the words felt so heavy on her tongue. "They're here!"  
The Zars, the undefeatable army of the Morah, had somehow arrived on Sirene. Five years ago, Kestrel and Bowman had helped to destroy this army by restoring the voice to the wind singer. This was a magical device that the Singers, the very Singers that Bowman could hear at that moment, had built in Aramanth. Bowman had stolen the voice from the Morah, but in doing so had awakened her terrible army. Only once the metal, S-shaped voice was placed back in the magical wind singer and the wind caused to it sing, had the Zars been (all-too-temporarily) defeated. Now, just a month before, when the army of the Mastery had burned Aramanth, the wind singer had been destroyed. Kestrel still wore the little voice around her neck, but neither she nor Bowman thought about that now.  
"Are you sure they're here?" Bowman asked, desperately wanting it not to be true. He himself heard nothing but the incessant Singing from the hill.   
"Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!"  
"Yes!" Kestrel cried, her mind racing. "I don't know how they could be, but I'm positive they're here, on the other side of the island. Don't you hear them?"  
Bowman shook his head. Was it some strange coincidence that neither could hear what the other was hearing? Probably not. For the first time, Bowman realized that maybe he would not have to fight the Morah alone. This did little to comfort him; he was now just more worried about Kestrel.   
_ Boy!_ Bowman looked around for the source of the thought-speak, and found the cat looking at him. _What is it?_ he returned.  
_I hear both these armies, Singers and Zars. Both are readying for battle. My people, the Singers, while they Sing the Zars cannot defeat them, but their throats will burn with the powerful magic they Sing after a time. We must hurry toward them, to insure this last stand of the Singers against our age - old enemy of the Morah is successful. Do you know what to do? _ The cat asked him this last question as he locked the boy with his huge amber eyes. Bowman felt small under this stare, and he didn't know exactly what he would have to do. He did know that it would come to him when the time came, however, and this was enough for the cat.  
_Follow me_, Mist ordered, and started leaping up the hill. Bowman and Kestrel followed as best they could, both with pounding chants of coming battle in their ears, the two different cries each becoming louder and louder.   
After several minutes of running uphill, they arrived at the top with their chests heaving. Looking around, the two twins found themselves in extraordinary surroundings. They were in front of a wide open pavilion-like building, with columns surrounding it on all circular sides, but only the blue sky above their heads. The place looked ancient, like it had been there when the world began. This was not the most amazing part of it, though, because inside Bowman saw the Singers.  
They stood in rings around all sides of the circle, row after row of blue robed men and women. They were old and young, tall and short, not conforming to any rule, except that they were all Singing. Bowman resisted the urge to cover his ears, for although the Song was beautiful, it was unbelievably loud.   
Kestrel, on the other hand, could not even see the huge gathering of Singers. All her concentration was on the bloodthirsty cries of the Zars. She was trying not to scream with the agony of knowing that they were so close, and yet not seen. But she did not have to wait long to be able to see them, and when they came into view she wished they would disappear again.  
The Zars were beautiful. There was no denying that. They were all dressed in clean white uniforms with gold trimming and hats and shoes that looked good as new. The only accessory that held them apart from a high school marching band were their four foot long swords, sharpened to the perfection of killing power.   
The leader was the same lovely girl who had led the Zars on their killing spree five years before. Kestrel recognized her with hatred and disbelief. She had seen this very same girl, this very same army, crumble into nothing in the streets of Aramanth years ago, and yet here they were again. The Zars could not die. The Morah always accepted their spirits again and made them new, with the will only to kill. And still, every one of them was smiling as though they were in a holiday parade. The literally endless lines of Zars, beginning with the high stepping , baton twirling girl in front, came to a sudden stop in the middle of the huge pavilion. Their chant of "Kill, kill, kill!" never ceased for a second.  
Kestrel didn't see who the Zars were looking at, but they were all smiling toward something on either side of them as they chanted. Bowman, in turn, could not see who the Singers were staring at with such hatred in their eyes. Mist saw it all, and with his fur standing out every which way, he led the two of them into the arena.   
As soon as they entered, both Kestrel and Bowman saw everything and heard everything. Each screamed, but it was Bowman who go the real shock as he saw the Zars standing there and heard the words he had wished only to know again in nightmares. Kestrel instinctively covered her ears against the shattering volume of the Song.   
Once they had stepped over the threshold to the ancient arena, both armies could see them as well. Every eye turned toward them, but not a beat was missed in either the chant or the Song. As Kestrel and Bowman stood in fear, an old, white- haired woman stepped forward from the lines of Singers. For a second Kestrel was afraid it was the Morah, but Bowman knew it was not.   
As soon as she moved, the lines of Zars separated and stepped closer to the lines of Singers. Both armies turned to look at each other again. Bowman and Kestrel noticed it at the same time - the Singers were tiring, just as Mist had said. And, as the Zars neared them, the Song became softer, against the wills of the Singers. Seeing how they struggled with each step, it was difficult for the Zars to come close while the Song was strong, but as they were weakening it with each step and their endless chant, they would soon be able to overcome the power of the Singing.   
"Kill, kill, kill, kill! Kill, kill, kill!"  
"The voice," the old woman Sang, her words not leaving the flow of music. She looked at Kestrel urgently, at the wind singer's voice hung around her neck. "Use it now!"  
Kestrel did not hesitate. She took the S shaped voice and put it to her lips. She blew a long, clear note, a single note that was louder and more powerful than the chants of the Morah's army. Just before the first line of Zars was about to reach the first line of Singers, they stepped back as if scorched by a fire, and kept stepping back until they were all in their original formation. Kestrel ended the note abruptly, and then started another one before the Zars could move. The Song became strong again, although it had lost something , an important element that they now depended on the wind singer's voice for.  
Kestrel had almost expected the Zars to crumble and 'die' on the spot, like they had the last time the wind singer had sung. No such thing happened. They simply pressed together again, still keeping up the chant, still grinning evilly. Kestrel kept playing the voice, but as she did the Zars again started to overcome it, more slowly this time, but definitely making progress on defying the Song. Fearfully but determined, Kestrel didn't let up on the voice.  
As Bowman watched in horror, the Zars moved closer and closer. Some even began to draw their swords. He knew that this was the time for him to do something, and suddenly he knew what. He would simply use the raw power that he knew he had somewhere inside of him. It was the same power he had used to destroy the Master. He hadn't been able to do it that time without the Morah's help. This time, though, it was he and the Singers against the Morah, and nothing would be able to stop him.   
Instantly Bowman had all the courage he needed. He strode confidently up to the beautiful girl, the leader of the beautiful army, and pushed her to the ground. Because all the Zars were connected in a deep way, they all felt her surprise at the thing Bowman had just done. Either he was very brave or he was very stupid, but for a second the collective Morah could not decide which, and the chant wavered. This was all Bowman needed.   
He cried aloud in a wordless voice, joining in the Song. He was the one whose voice was needed, which the Song had not been complete without. All his power that had been building inside him was let out in one momentous rush, an angry stream of strength that shocked the Zars and brought them to their knees. Their "Kill, kill, kill!" finally stopped, their smiles faded, and in one great sweeping wind that blew out from over the ocean, the Zars had disappeared, were gone.  
The Song rose to a wonderful crescendo, and then ceased just as quickly as the Zars. Kestrel dropped the wind singer's voice so that it again hung on her chest, then ran to embrace her brother. The dust cleared, and finally all was silent. Kestrel and Bowman stood alone together in the middle of the great arena. Almost alone, they both suddenly realized.   
One person stood in the place of the mighty army. An old woman with white hair and fiery eyes filled with uncontrollable rage. She looked at Bowman for one second. Then she lunged!  
In that instant, a gray blur hurtled over the heads of the Singers, and into the eyes of the Morah. With a terrible scream that used more than one voice, the Morah tried to tear off the cat who was clawing out her eyes, her many eyes. She could not. The Morah collapsed, and was carried away by the wind like her army before her. The soul of the evil Morah had been destroyed, never to return.  
Mist sauntered over to Bowman, who picked him up in his arms and hugged him. Mist wasn't expecting this, and meowed.  
_Just because I saved your life, doesn't mean you have the right to cuddle me. I have my dignity!_ Mist berated him as he was set back down.   
_You do, cat_, Bowman said silently. _You do._  
The Singers began to Sing again, softly this time, growing slowly louder. Now it was not a song of battle or fighting, but a song of joy and thanks, and of coming peace and happiness.  
  
THE END  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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